


Until death do us apart

by Cathevera



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Bond is an irrationally nervous git, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Q has no idea what to do with himself, eh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:44:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cathevera/pseuds/Cathevera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James wants to pop the question, but frankly he's got no fucking idea what he's doing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until death do us apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IcarusIncident](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcarusIncident/gifts).



> Yeah hi, my dear friend said that, much to her "dream-crushing disappointment", one of the fics she'd read had not ended in marriage proposal on Bond's end. I tried to fix this.
> 
> (In all seriousness, the fic is absolutely, mindbogglingly amazing no matter what. Please read it. http://archiveofourown.org/works/625760/chapters/1130004 -- All credit goes to AO3 user feelslikefire. ) 
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> (For those of you who read my Stanner fic: my sincerest apologies. It will be updated eventually.)

Christ, but Bond was nervous. He told himself he was being ridiculous; that surely, after so many months spent together and with his life on the line every other week, Q could only accept him.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. God knows that his darling Quartermaster was nothing if not enigmatic, even if Bond liked to think he knew him better than anyone. He probably did, but that did nothing to calm down the vice grip on his heart that would not abate, no matter how many glasses of scotch (under the guise of ‘Dutch courage’) he drank.

Which was unwise, it would only serve to make Q glance at him disapprovingly whenever he would walk in the door of his- their. Their apartment.

Well, sod it. He would be damned to Hell and back if he could take a bullet for Queen and Country but not go down on one knee to propose to the man he loved and cared for most in this world.

Not that he would ever say that out loud as literally as he’d thought the words. He took a moment to appreciate Q and his ability to read Bond’s subtext better than anyone ever had.

Many, many months ago that might have struck him as a liability. Bond no longer thought of it that way.

When he finally did hear the steps on the stairs, he stood up from the couch, then sat back down again, only to get back up again to pace toward the kitchen. He muttered a curse under his breath. It was unbecoming of the world’s most dangerous man to be nervous as a prom date, back ramrod straight the moment Q stepped inside.

“James?” Came Q’s questioning voice from the hallway.

“In here.” Bond called from the kitchen, debating on whether or not something so trite as champagne had ever been a good idea in the first place. Did Q even have an idea of what an ideal proposal would look like? Did he himself even do? Shit, fuck. It’d taken them long enough to get to this point, where stability was a word that applied within certain parameters of their lives. He didn’t want to bugger it up by springing something like this on Q.

Q stepped into the kitchen and immediately noticed the tense posture of his boyfriend, sensed that there was something off about him, because _of fucking course he did_.

“Are you quite alright?”

Bond turned his head and smiled crookedly, turning away from the counter and positively stalking over to his love. If anything, it only served to make it more obvious how he was overcompensating nervousness.

“Of course. Hello, love.”

His arms came up to wrap around Q, who immediately halted him by placing his hands on James’ biceps.

“Are you sure?” Q asked, squinting at Bond suspiciously. “You seem… Tense.”

Bloody buggering fuck, if that wasn’t the understatement of the century.

“I’m fine, Q. Nothing to worry about.” He slid his arms up further, wrapping them around Q. It was at that moment that he realised that he’d kept the small velvet box in his suit coat’s pocket, and Q’s arms were coming down to wrap around his hips. He darted back, immediately cursed himself for being so obvious, and opted to pour champagne instead. He could always say it was the first anniversary of when he’d broken into the first decoy flat.

Q’s brows were knit together in confusion when he took the glass, eyeing it with suspicion that even he knew was unfounded. Still, James was acting in a most obscure manner.

“What are we celebrating?” he asked, one eyebrow raised incredulously.

“An anniversary.” Bond said, raising his glass in a toast. “Of my first pursuit of you, exactly one year ago.”

Nonsensical, Q decided. Was this a decoy?  For what? Surely Bond had no sinister purpose, here.

He put his glass down on the counter. “What’s going on, James?”

Bond must’ve looked like he couldn’t decide between breaking down and divulging everything or holding up a stoic façade of coolness. This, of course, did not help the situation at all.

Eventually, Q decided that there was absolutely no way James was hiding anything major from him, and tried for a playful lilt to his voice.

“Are you hiding something from me?” he said, grin already halfway across his face before he noticed the flicker of- of what? Disappointment? Surprise? Something, and Bond may have been a secret agent, may have been able to hide everything from anyone, but not from Q.

“Oh God, you _are_ hiding something.” He was not up to deal with this right now. Jesus Christ, what the fuck. Were they not past this? He turned his back to Bond and walked over to the kettle, but Bond caught his wrist in his hand, forcing him to stand still, much to Q’s annoyance.

Bond looked at him with the most… Loving, tender gaze Q had witnessed in his life so far. That was unexpected.

“The truth is that I’m no good at grand romantic gestures.” He blurted out, looking for a moment what could only be described as ‘sheepish’. “I wanted to celebrate something of significance, because you _are_ significant, you are… Essential, to me, to my life.” He took a steadying breath and caught Q’s other wrist in his free hand, bringing them together and wrapping his own hands around Q’s.

“The truth is that I wanted to make this special, someway, but I am… Afraid, that you would reject me, because surely the last thing we need is another layer of logistical Hell in our lives. However…” He raised his head, looked Q straight in the eyes and sunk down to one knee, never taking his eyes of Q’s, who had gone eerily quiet. “Logistics be damned. Q, every single week there’s the chance that I might- I might perish.” He saw Q flinch away, but shook his hands in his and forced him to look back. “We don’t think about that, I know we don’t, we accept it as inevitable, but if that doesn’t happen, if I should retire and be lucky enough to have you as my only charge, then I would very much like you to be that as my husband.”

He withdrew his hands for long enough to take the box from his pocket, and if his fingers trembled when he opened it to reveal a very tasteful  broad, white gold engagement ring with a tiny studded diamond in the middle, then Q was too stunned to mention it.

“No matter how long it lasts, I want to spend my life, all of my remaining days, with you. Will you marry me, Q?”

Without saying a single word, Q sank down to his knees in front of Bond, not saying a word, lips closed but not pressed together, eyes shining bright but without any tears to shed, long fingers only barely touching the edges of the velvet box.

“Yes,” he all but whispered. “I would like that… Very much.”

Bond’s smile, it somewhat romantically occurred to Q, could have lit up his entire apartment. He carefully slipped the heavy ring around Q’s finger, before embracing him where they were knelt upon the floor, kissing him deeply.

Q chuckled into the kiss. “And here I thought you were married to Queen and country.”

He felt rather than saw Bond’s smile against his own mouth. “I’m sure she won’t mind.”


End file.
